Page 37 of Ruthless Sinner

“Your lip will probably be fine,” Silas goes on, cataloging the severity of my injuries and making mental notes for treatment. “There will be significant bruising across this side of your face, but nothing seems broken. I’ll need to see you in a week to make sure everything is healing properly, though.”

I wave him off. “Tell my captor. I can’t go anywhere alone. He thinks I’m a flight risk, but where will I go?” I ask in a stage whisper. “My father is literally going to kill me. I’m better off being Dante’s real-life sex doll than being my father’s prisoner.”

My existence feels meaningless, like a leaf swept along by a strong current. When I eventually pass away, I fear that my name will fade into obscurity and no one will remember who I am. I will be forgotten; my memories will be buried with me. No one will mourn my passing or come to pay their respects at my funeral.

Perhaps the only things I have to hold onto are the best sex of my life and meals fed to me at Dante’s leisure until he tires of me and snuffs out my flame. It’s not the worst fate I could imagine, but it certainly doesn’t match the grandiose dreams I had as a wide-eyed eight-year-old.

Chapter 39

Dante

When Silas is finished with Adalina, he leaves for the hospital. “I’ll check on Enzo and make sure he’s doing alright.”

“Thanks,” I clap him on the shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles at me before heading down the hall. “Hey, about the girl,” he stops as he reaches the end, a thought occurring to him. “I don’t know what’s happening here, and I don’t care as long as I get my money. But Adalina might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know too many women who can undergo what happened to her and come out with their faculties still intact. I gave her something for the anxiety, but I don’t think she needed it.”

I don’t have the time or energy to tell Silas that this probably isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. Instead, I flash him an exhausted smile and nod at him. “Thanks for taking care of her tonight.”

“Come see me in a week. Both of you. Especially her, though.” With a slight crease between his eyebrows and a slow shake of his head, he looks at me in concern. “She seems fine today, but when the adrenaline wears off, I want to make sure she doesn’t need a therapist or some meds or something.”

If I know Adalina, she’d rather die than tell her problems to a therapist. “Thanks, doc. I’ll call you.”

I walk to the bedroom and find her sitting on the edge of the bed, exactly where Silas left her. Her body is slumped forward, a blank expression on her face from the heavy medication the doctor gave her. “Hey,” I smile softly, “how are you doing?”

“Sticky,” she says, her voice quick and breathless. “There’s blood all over me.” When she turns to look at me, Adalina’s pupils dilate. “Oh, my god. There’s blood on you, too.”

She’s dopey from the drugs, and it’s adorable. “Let’s shower.” I walk over to help her to her feet.

“I can’t.” Adalina’s response is glum, her voice carrying a tinge of defeat. “I can’t use this hand.” She shows me her cast before letting it fall limp to her side.

Despite her protests, I gently guide her to the bathroom, then rummage through the cluttered space under the sink, searching for a plastic bag amid the assortment of toiletries and cleaning supplies. “Yes, you can. Now stay still.” I wrap it around her cast before taking off my pants and turning on the shower. As the water heats up, I help remove the blanket she’s been wearing as a dress as a makeshift dress. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The shower is a spacious walk-in, with gleaming tiles covering the walls and floor. The rain shower head above us sprays out streams of warm water, creating a misty cloud that envelops us. We stand side-by-side under the jets, our bodies almost touching, as I grab a loofah and start gently scrubbing away the dried blood from her skin.

“That feels nice,” she murmurs dreamily, savoring the warmth and comfort of the water.

I rinse the loofah, feeling the grit and grime wash down the drain. Then I return to her battered face and carefully scrub away the bloodstains. Her beautiful skin is mottled with bruises, and her swollen lip is now twice its normal size.

Adalina slumps against the slick, cool shower wall, her body limp and heavy as she allows me to finish cleaning her. I know it’s the drugs—I have to keep telling myself that before I get attached to the idea that she’ll let me take care of her—but it’s nice to see her letting her guard down. “Does anything hurt? Silas left some pain meds downstairs. I can go get them if you need me to. Or if you’d like to finish cleaning yourself alone.”

“No,” Adalina says quickly, her eyes popping open and her good arm reaching up to grab my wrist. “Don’t leave me. I need you.” Her words slur together as if she’s had a fifth of whiskey instead of a few meds meant to keep the strongest emotions at bay.

I take her hand in mine, cradling it delicately as I bring it to my lips. A wave of warmth washes over me as her fingers intertwine with mine. It is a simple gesture, deepening and solidifying our connection. “I’ll never leave you, Adalina.” My chest aches with a discomfort I’ve never felt before.

“Can I have some tomatoes?” She asks, her eyes closing again.

My laughter bubbles up as I reluctantly release her hand back to her side. The warmth of her palm lingers on mine, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. “You can have anything you want. Why tomatoes?”

“I smell tomato sauce. The doctor said someone was cooking.”

It’s probably Salvatore. He spent his formative years in the kitchen with our mother, learning how to make homemade sauce, pasta, and wine. When he doesn’t know what to do in times of chaos, he turns to cooking as a source of comfort and stability. I’ve teased him for it before, but it comes in handy this morning. “Let’s finish washing up, and then we’ll get something to eat, okay?”

Adalina nods her head slowly, her dark curls bouncing with the movement. I strain to hear her mumbled words, but all I can make out is the soft sound of my name. She reaches up tentatively, her slender fingers brushing against my chest before she speaks again. “Let me wash you,” her voice soft and pleading, words holding a sense of urgency.

I let her take the loofah, and she swipes it across my chest with hardly any effort. It takes off a few spots of blood, but the water does most of the heavy lifting. It loosens the thick crust of red that coats my torso, but I’m grateful for her cleansing touch. “You’re doing great, Adalina.”

Her heavy eyelids struggle to part, weighted down by exhaustion and pharmaceuticals. “I’ll be your sex toy until you’re done with me. But kill me quick,” she says. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

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